* * *
Ginny had lost track of the hours she had spent lying under Draco's bed. She had also lost patience with his rooms given appearance of cleanliness.
"I do not care how neat the rest of his room is," Ginny muttered, attempting to shake dust out of her hair, "the world under his bed certainly isn't. House elves are probably afraid to clean under here." She caught sight of a very large dust ball and looked at it in disgust. "And I do not blame them."
With a sigh, she slumped down, resting her head in the palms of her hands. Why on earth did the Slytherin commons have to be in a dungeon? There were no windows anywhere to tell how late it was getting. And the torches on the walls of Dracos room had gone out with a small pop when he had left the room, leaving her in darkness.
"How late can Slytherins stay up anyway?" Ginny groaned, "What are they, nocturnal or something?"
Just when Ginny thought she was going to loose her mind from laying under the bed a sudden thought struck her with the force of a ton of bricks, she had never gotten to check the very last drawer of Dracos dresser! His mask that she had been searching for could be in there, and here she was, lying under the bed the whole time.
She began to slide out from under the bed just as the faint sound of the turning door handle sent a shiver up her spine.
"Blast!" she growled, wondering how she hadn't heard the footsteps signifying the sudden approach. She quickly dove under the bed once more, wishing she could kick herself for being so stupid.
Draco Malfoy stepped in, the torches bursting to life once more and illuminating the room. Ginny stared intently at the fifth and last drawer as though if she looked at it long enough she would be able to see though it. Gritting her teeth together in frustration, she stretched her neck out slightly to see what Draco was doing.
He had walked over to the wall with all the hooks on it and had slowly begun to remove his black robe, his face expressionless. He hung the robe on one of the hooks and walked over to his dresser, opening the first drawer. He reached up and removed his tie, placing it carefully in the drawer. Next, he removed his socks, placing them in the drawer as well.
Ginny tried not to stare as Draco raised his arms to lift his gray vest over his head, ruffling a few strands of his blonde hair out of place as he did so. Ginny struggled to keep her breathing even as she saw him reach up and begin to unbutton his white, long sleeve shirt.
Ginny breathed in very sharply. Draco whirled around suddenly so he was facing the direction of Ginnys gaze.
Peering out from behind the length of green silk that hung over the bed, Ginny saw a confused expression on his face, as though he had thought he heard something but wasn't quite sure.
Ginny mentally scolded herself and clamped her hand defiantly over her mouth to keep herself silent, but as she did so, her hand slowly dropped to the floor once more as she took a good look at the boy standing in front of her.
Draco stood there in his black pants and unbuttoned shirt, a suspicious expression still on his face. Suddenly, Ginny forgot that this was the same Draco Malfoy that she had known for six years. His silvery hair looked sleek and almost molten as a few strands dripped in front of his eyes. For some reason, his skin no longer looked pale, but was bathed in the green light of the torches, which somehow did not make him look sickly, but as though he was bathed in the reflected flickering light of a huge emerald. His stormy eyes sparkled with silver flecks and his cheeks held a tint of raspberry, extremely well defined by his high cheekbones.
Ginny could do nothing but stare. She felt as though she was drowning in his reflection, the silver from his eyes blinding her and sweeping her up in an endless stream of emerald light.
His shirt hung unbuttoned and limp around his figure, revealing a perfectly smooth, luminous strip of skin down to the top of his midnight dark pants, the blackness of which accented the rich ivory tones of his skin. Ginny could not help noticing that his stomach muscles were extremely well defined and lined in up perfect rows on his lower body. The arm muscles he had gained from six years of being a Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team bulged slightly through the fabric of his white shirt, making Ginny raise her eyebrows. All the students in Hogwarts wore the same uniform and robes which pretty much concealed any figure that anyone might have. She would have never guessed that the apparently scrawny and thin Draco Malfoy could appear this way. Well, she would have never guessed that she would be trapped under his bed watching him remove his clothing either.
As Ginny continued to gape uncontrollably, Draco gave a little shrug and turned back around, picking up his silver comb from his dresser top. He ran it through his silky locks a few times, parting it completely from its usual slicked backed state.
As Ginny watched, she tried to rip her eyes away from the vision, trying to force herself to believe that she was insane to be doing what she was. This was Draco Malfoy, the single individual person at Hogwarts who could really rain on her parade. Snape might be unfair and intolerable, but his threats and enmity towards the Gryffindors as a whole didn't penetrate Ginnys spirit in the slightest. He could be cruel, give extra homework and take away points, but in the end all his bad temper could do was cast a shadow on her surface.
Draco was a long, shiny steel blade, a perfectly smooth combination of deadly beauty with a poisoned tip. He could slice through any happiness or peacefulness with one swift slash, tearing through even the strongest person's emotions. And there was no hiding the look on his victims face once they had been chosen as the target for his next strike.
Ginny scowled, thinking of the countless times she had seen Draco in action. It didn't matter who it was, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors alike were all bound to experience the pain sooner or later. And that was the thing, there was no stopping it. Ginny had often wondered if Draco had merely decided to get up one day and said "I think I'll make a Hufflepuff cry today" or "Today looks like a good day for a Gryffindor to experience a sudden flying accident." He knew exactly what to say to strike combined sadness and fear into someone's heart as his hateful words struck like white hot sparks from his wand.
But for some reason, he did not look like the usual venomous snake he usually appeared as to the student population of Hogwarts. Ginny shrugged; maybe it was just because he thought he was alone in his room where no one could see that he wasn't wearing his trademark Malfoy sneer.
Ginny was abruptly brought back to the present as she saw Dracos hand move to the top button on his pants.
Ginny blinked. "No way," she muttered, turning her head away, "There is nothing anything anyone could say or do that would make me watch this, no way."
As she kept her head turned stubbornly, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, then the unmistakable noises of ruffling fabric. She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep her head turned away, but the more she thought about it the harder the task became. Finally, she turned, gritting her teeth together in frustration.
Her first reaction before she got a hold of herself was to realize that Dracos leg muscles were just as well defined as arm muscles, but they were quickly concealed along with his shiny, green silk underwear as he pulled on a pair of matching green pajama pants.
Draco didn't bother to put on a shirt, but climbed atop his regal bed, slid under the sheets and rustled around a bit, the mattress under which Ginny was concealed bulging slightly on the bottom, almost hitting her.
Ginny remained under the bed, still staring at the spot where Draco had been standing a few moments before. She was insane, that was all there was to it. Never in a million years could she have possibly imagined the scene that had just taken place in front of her eyes. A slight blush rose in her face as she remembered back to the days when she had worshiped Harry, fanaticizing in the form of a young girl's heartthrob. Nothing she had ever dared to imagine was anything like this.
"Whoa," Ginny muttered, shaking her head as though trying to sift through the different layers of her thoughts, "I doubt even Harry could look that wonderful in green silk."
When she listened to herself and realized what she had said, she rolled her eyes and made a small noise of disgust.
"Being in the Slytherin commons is doing things to my head," she whispered, "I need to get out of here."
Waiting for another five minutes wasn't so hard after the seemingly long hours she had already spent under the bed, so she listened until she was sure all of the students had made their way up the stairs and to their rooms.
When she was finally sure the last person had closed their door and gotten into their own bed, she slid out from under Dracos bed on her stomach, listening to the soft, steady sound of his breathing. As she stood up for the first time in what felt like forever, she brushed a heap of dust off of the front of her robes and sweater, which sifted down to the black carpet.
She strode over to the door and was just about to turn the handle when she looked back at that bottom drawer, a sense of foreboding overcoming her. She should check it; she might never get another chance. She took a step towards it, but a sudden sharp intake of breath from Draco startled her, and she quickly abandoned the idea with regret and stepped out of his room. As she descended the stairs into the main common room, she seemed to fly across the darkness of the space, her heart beating all the while with the fear that someone would suddenly emerge from the darkness and catch her, but she made it to the stone entrance, which opened automatically as she touched it.
Ginny swiftly exited the common room after one last fleeting look around, a million thoughts swirling about in her mind. And as she silently tiptoed her way out of the dungeons towards her own bed, she tried not to think about how innocent and harmless Draco looked when he was asleep, with his blonde hair strewn over the pillow and his pale lashes curled upon his smooth cheeks, for she knew all too well that a snake may coil up with vulnerability, but could lash out with deadly grace at any moment.
Draco rolled over on his back and rubbed his eyes, wondering how long it had been since he had gotten under his covers. He couldn't sleep, but that was nothing new. For a while now he hadn't been able to go one night without waking suddenly at least once with a terrible feeling of dread. He didn't know where the dread came from exactly; it wasn't always easy to think clearly in the middle of the night when his mind was so full and busy that he could not even keep his eyes shut.
Sometimes he wished he could just erase everything going on in his mind, everything that was causing him pain. The closest he had ever gotten to that feeling was back when he was fourteen, and that imposter Professor Moody had insisted on putting the Imperious Curse on all of the students. It had filled him with a wonderful, fleeting feeling, everything unpleasant seemed to be cast into shadow, concealed behind a curtain, not entirely gone but just knowing it was covered up was enough to make him feel better.
They were supposed to learn how to fight it. Fight the Imperious Curse. Draco hadn't been able to do it. Now, sitting up, sweat pouring down his face, he wondered whether the reason he hadn't been able to fight it was because he didn't want to. The Imperious Curse got rid of his father, it got rid of his supposed destiny, and it got rid of his entire bleak history and future as a Malfoy. So what if it was an unforgivable curse? As long as he didn't have to deal with his muddled life, anything was worth it.
As he shifted some more under his sheets, he rubbed his hands over the cold, smooth satin, then up to his face, which was now streaked with tears as well as sweat. Smooth and cold. That was what he was. On the outside, at least.
Draco heaved a sigh. He would never allow anyone to see that there was more than one Draco Malfoy. They were only allowed to view one. Smooth and cold, always smooth and cold. On the outside, he kept up that façade. The Draco who could make people stop in their tracks and walk the other direction with a sneer from his lips, the Draco who didn't even walk into the library without making some sarcastic remark about one thing or another. Yes, that was the real Draco.
But there was more than one real Draco. What no one ever saw was the Draco who strolled through the vast, empty hallways at the Malfoy Manor, pitiful and helpless, the Draco Malfoy who woke up in the middle of the night with drops of water oozing from the corners of his eyes.
He shut his eyes tight. And they never would see them. He would continue to fight the pain his own way, without his other selves protruding through the one he had grown so accustomed to on the outside.
In a sudden rage, he reached up and wiped the tears from his face. He refused to let himself cry, even if he was alone. His father would be ashamed. But who really cared what Lucius thought? He was a thousand miles away, probably sitting in their drawing room having tea while reading the Evening Prophet and sneering at all the articles that he found disapprovingly decent.
Draco sat up quickly and opened his eyes as wide as they would go and stared at the wall opposite him. His eyes began to sting and sharp pricks of water fell onto his bed sheets. Draco did not close his eyes, though the stinging increased and a shower of tears fell and joined the others that lay in a small pool on top of the green silk.
He sat there in the dark, letting the water flow from his eyes onto his silk covered lap.
"Just to show you I do not care what you say, Father," Draco whispered into the silence, his voice shaking slightly, "I don't care one bit."
And when his eyes felt as though they had given up as much water as they could, Draco finally fell back onto his pillows and slept more soundly than he had in a long while.